Months had passed since the hiring process began. The Kepler residence on Friton had settled into a new, busy rhythm, but today, the energy in the studio wing was different. It was the day of the first "All-Hands" meeting.
Leo hovered in the center of the game room, projecting a wide, semi-circular holographic array. Five faces, beaming in from different sectors of the galaxy, looked back at him with a mixture of excitement and nervous anticipation.
"Congratulations," Leo's synthesized voice announced, acting as the moderator. "All of you have been chosen to be the foundation of Round Table Studios. Before our Founder reveals himself, please, introduce yourselves to your new colleagues. Miss Liseli, you may go first."
Lin Liseli, a young human woman with bright, dyed hair, stood up in her own home studio. Her hologram shifted with her movement. "Hello everyone," she said, her energy infectious. "I am Lin Liseli. I am an animator and concept artist from the Mid-Rim sectors." She grinned. " words are cheap, so..."
She reached her hand toward her recording sensor. A small holographic puck on her desk flared to life, projecting a 3D animation into the shared meeting space. It was a simple loop of a character, performing a complex, fluid flying maneuvers. The weight, the momentum, the smear frames... it was alive.
The other four feeds erupted in applause.
"Looking forward to working with you all," she said, sitting back down, looking pleased.
"Mr. Dalle," Leo intoned.
Ross Dalle stood. He was a Zynar, his tall, lanky frame and three-jointed limbs giving him an alien grace. He reached for a small, strange instrument on his desk. "Since Miss Liseli showed a bit of her soul, I shall do the same. My name is Ross Dalle. I am a composer and sound designer."
He brought the instrument to his lips. It looked like a flute made of twisted glass. He played a short, haunting tune, a melody that sounded like wind rushing through a canyon, lonely yet beautiful.
The applause was softer this time, but deeply appreciative. "Thank you," Dalle said, bowing his head.
"Mr. Kasavin," Leo called.
A human man with a face etched by years of industry crunch stood up. He had the tired but kind eyes of a veteran. "Hi everyone. I am Kasavin. I am a writer and narrative designer. I can't really 'show' my work in a ten-second clip, but... well, I was the Lead Narrative Designer on the opening chapters of Legion Duty 2."
Ross Dalle's eyes went wide. "Whoa. We have a veteran. That game's opening was the only good part of the whole franchise."
Kasavin chuckled, a dry sound. "Thanks. Looking forward to working on something... different with you all."
"The feeling is mutual," Liseli beamed.
"Mr. Kim," Leo continued.
Logan Kim stood up, rubbing a ragged beard, a mug of caf in his hand. "Good evening, everyone."
His personal Compadre, visible in the background of his feed, chimed in. "Sir, they are in different time zones."
Logan blinked, then laughed. "Oh, wait. Right. Different star systems. Sorry! Hahaha. Well, I am a systems engineer. I am good with engine architecture and backend codes. Looking forward to the future." He sat down, taking a sip of his caf.
"Last but not least," Leo said. "Mr. Lendu."
Bem Lendu stood slowly. He looked cleaner, healthier than he had in his interview, but still humble. "My name is Bem Lendu," he said, his voice quiet but steady. "I am an engineer and gameplay programmer. I look forward to meeting and working with all of you."
He sat down quickly, clearly not used to the spotlight.
"Now," Leo announced, the holographic array shimmering. "Our Founder."
Leo's voice glitched, a deliberate audio distortion, and then it cleared. But the voice that came out of the Compadre was not Leo's robotic synthesis. It was a human voice. Young, calm, and undeniably charismatic.
"Hello," Dorian's voice said through the bot. "Can you hear me?"
"Yes," the five employees replied in unison.
"I am sorry I cannot show myself," Dorian continued. "Due to personal reasons, I must remain anonymous for the time being. I am the Founder of Round Table Studios."
The team exchanged looks across the holographic divide. They were all thinking the same thing: 'He sounds so young.' 'This was the mind behind the revolutionary Stardew Valley?'
"My name is Arthur," Dorian said, adopting the persona that fit the studio's name. "It is good to see you all. And... shall we start with the next project you will be bringing to life?"
He smiled in his studio, unseen by them. He tapped his console.
A new file, Project_Underworld_Concept_v1, was shared to the center of the meeting space.
A massive, intricate holographic logo appeared, burning with red and black flames. The title solidified in the air, sharp and dangerous.
HADES
…
Time passed in the virtual meeting room. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward. The holographic avatars of the new team flickered slightly, their faces masks of polite, terrified waiting. They were used to the Accord corporate structure: the boss speaks, you listen, you obey.
Dorian, watching from behind his camera, sighed silently. He pressed the talk button. "Please," his voice, modulated as Arthur, said gently. "Speak your mind. We are a team. I am not a Director. I am a developer, just like you. I want to hear your opinions."
Logan Kim, the scruffy systems engineer, shifted his weight. He cleared his throat. "Sir."
"Call me Arthur," Dorian corrected immediately. "All of you. Call me Arthur."
"Right... Arthur," Logan said, still sounding unsure. He gestured to the floating code structure of the procedural engine. "I still can't wrap my head around this procedural system you are proposing. Calculating the narrative state alongside the room generation... I think it will take too much data for the user's end-unit. The processing load will fry a standard heliopad."
Dorian was about to answer, to explain his workaround, when Bem Lendu raised his hand tentatively.
"Actually," Bem's quiet voice cut in. "I think I have seen this problem before."
Logan turned his avatar to look at Bem. "You have?"
"Yes," Bem said, his confidence growing as he looked at the code. "The Destroyer-class navigation systems... they have to calculate shifting star systems and debris fields in real-time. It is a massive load. But we used a technique called 'Topological Flattening.' We can minimize the theoretical depth of the array and make it flat data, then expand it only when the player enters the room."
Logan stared at Bem, his eyes widening. He pulled up a sub-routine and ran a simulation in his head. "Flattening the array... treating the room as a potentiality until observed..." He looked at Bem with newfound respect. "I get what you mean. It will take time to rewrite the kernel, but... that would save 40% of the memory load."
"I think we should talk more with Arthur about the implementation," Bem suggested humbly.
"Great," Arthur said, his voice beaming. "I am looking forward to it."
Behind the camera, Dorian leaned back, stunned. He couldn't believe it. In his past life, Hades was a masterpiece, but it had technical limits. Here, with Bem's military-grade knowledge and Logan's systems expertise, his plan to expand Hades; to make the Underworld truly infinite, to have the architecture shift in ways he could only dream of before could actually be realized.
"Um, Arthur?" Lin Liseli spoke up, emboldened by the technical exchange. "Regarding the dialogue scenes. I think we can use Live2D rigging. Make the gods... breathe. Have their hair float, their eyes track the cursor. Animated dialogue bubbles."
"That is exactly what I was hoping for," Arthur confirmed.
Liseli pumped her fist. "Awesome! It's a lot of frames, though. I'll stay up all night to make the draft animations for the Olympians."
"No," Arthur said. The word was sharp, immediate.
The room went dead silent. Liseli shrank back, thinking she had overstepped.
"There will be no crunches in my company," Arthur's voice said, firm and serious. "I want you all maintaining a sustainable, healthy work-life balance. Life is not just about work. Since we are still at the stage of working from home, I can't physically enforce that, but I want you to try."
He paused, then added, "Start logging your contractual hours. Make sure if you are working overtime, you call Leo. He will note down your overtime pay."
They were all stunned. Even the glitching holographic artifacts seemed to freeze.
"Overtime... pay??" Kasavin, the veteran writer, asked, his voice cracking. He had worked in the industry for thirty years. He had never been paid a credit for the thousands of late nights he had pulled.
"You're saying..." Liseli stammered, "you're paying more... for working outside working hours?"
"Yes," Dorian said, confused by their reaction. "That's... normal, isn't it?"
He saw the shock, the confusion, and the dawning, tearful happiness on their faces. Bem Lendu looked like he was about to cry. "Thank you," he whispered.
Dorian, a bit taken aback, quickly typed a search query into his wristband: 'Accord Labor Laws - Overtime Compensation.'
Dorian stared at the screen. There was no such thing. He was inventing labor rights in real-time.
"Okay," Arthur said, his voice softening. "We will stop today's meeting here. When our physical office is ready, we will start working together properly. I will see you all again soon. Log off. Go eat dinner."
"Thank you, Arthur!" "Thank you, sir!" "See you!"
One by one, the holograms vanished, leaving the room quiet.
Leo hovered over to Dorian's desk. "That was wholesome, Dorian."
…
Time passed. While Ratik was scouring the Mid-Rim for a suitable physical studio location, Dorian took a trip back to Sela. He needed to see the man who had started it all.
He arrived at the familiar, lavish mansion. Roy, the tall, skeletal Compadre, greeted him at the door with his signature circular wave. "Welcome back, Composer."
Roy led him through the house to the back garden. There, bathed in the gentle light of Sela's afternoon sun, sat Maestro Gil Nothos. He was wearing a simple, comfortable robe, sipping Teebu, looking every bit the retired legend.
"Maestro," Dorian called out.
Gil didn't turn around immediately. He took a slow sip of his tea. "You finally remembered to visit this old man after seeing the announcement, I see."
Dorian chuckled, walking over to sit in the chair opposite him. "Hehe. I am still busy too, you know. Building an empire takes time."
"Humph," Gil grunted, setting his cup down with a little more force than necessary.
'What is with this grumpy old man?' Dorian thought, amused. 'He's acting like a jilted lover.'
"How is Ratik doing?" Gil asked, his tone trying to sound indifferent but failing.
"She is great," Dorian said, relaxing into the chair. "She helps me a lot with... well, everything. I don't know what I would do without her."
Roy poured a cup of steaming Teebu for Dorian. He took a sip, the familiar flavor grounding him. He looked at Gil.
"Will you be there?" Dorian asked.
"Should I?" Gil scoffed. "They dragged my name into your song nominations as if I helped write them. It is embarrassing."
"But you did help," Dorian insisted.
"Did I write the melody?" Gil challenged, raising an eyebrow. "Did I write the lyrics?"
Dorian shook his head. "No."
"Then you did all the work," Gil stated firmly. "So own up to it. There will be a bunch of leeches trying to suck the talent out of you if you are not careful. Do not give credit where it is not due."
"I hoped you would still come," Dorian said, his voice quiet but earnest.
Gil looked at him, his silver eyes softening just a fraction.
"Like it or not," Dorian continued, "you helped me more behind the scenes than you ever had to. You gave me the stage. You gave me the orchestra. You gave me the chance."
They both sipped their Teebu in silence, enjoying the gentle breeze and the scent of the alien flowers.
"I just want the camera to show your face," Dorian said, looking at the old maestro, "when I am on the stage holding my first Gilded Award."
Gil stared at him for a moment, then threw his head back and laughed. "HAHAHAHA! Fine, you brat! You have become arrogant." He wiped a tear of mirth from his eye. "But you have to play with me after we are done talking. That is my price."
"Fine, old man," Dorian grinned.
"Hoho," Gil chuckled. " becoming more bold, are we?"
They shared an easy laugh, the tension of the galaxy and the awards fading away.
When they were finished, they walked back inside towards the grand instrument room. As they walked through the halls, Dorian looked around. He noticed the golden, intricate ornaments displayed on shelves and in recessed alcoves throughout the room. He had seen them before but never really looked. Now, with his new knowledge of the Gilded Crescendo, the shape looked familiar.
"Wait," Dorian said, stopping in front of a shelf. "I just realized... those are your awards."
"Yeah," Gil said dismissively, not even glancing at them.
"I thought you just had a really tacky sense of ornamentation the first time I saw them," Dorian admitted.
"Hoo," Gil snorted. "Big talk for a chick who hasn't even hatched one yet."
Dorian looked at Gil. The old man truly didn't seem to care about the glittering trophies. "You don't look very proud of them, either."
"Well," Gil shrugged, walking past a row of ten golden trophies. "At some point, they really do just become tacky ornaments. Dust collectors. But," he added, throwing a smirk over his shoulder, "I will not take that criticism from you until you have at least one on your shelf."
They arrived at the center of the room. The Stradus violin sat in its glass case, gleaming under the lights. Dorian walked up to it and placed his hand on the glass. He felt it instantly; a hum, a vibration of recognition.
"Hello, friend," he whispered. "We meet again."
Gil sat at the magnificent Savarius grand piano and opened the cover. He flexed his chrome-and-flesh fingers.
"The same song as before?" Gil asked.
Dorian opened the case, lifting the Stradus with reverence. "Merry Go Round of Life it is."
He tucked the violin under his chin. Gil played the opening chord.
They began to play. It was as if they had never left the note hanging in the air months ago. They synced up instantly, two masters of their craft falling into a perfect, telepathic rhythm. It was the reunion of long-lost partners.
Dorian felt the Stradus singing in his hands, its wooden soul vibrating in harmony with the massive, resonant heart of the Savarius. The longing, the joy, the sorrow of the song... it was all there, brought closer, made deeper by the time they had spent apart.
…
The lights in the colossal auditorium of the Rheesion Hotel dimmed, plunging thousands of the galaxy's elite into a hushed anticipation. Then, a laser show of blinding complexity erupted from the stage, carving the air with symbols of music and wealth.
A host, dressed in a suit made of shifting, digital fabric, descended from the ceiling on a platform of light.
"WELCOME, EVERYONE!!" his amplified voice boomed, shaking the very foundations of the building. "TO THE 345TH ANNUAL GILDED CRESCENDO AWARDS!!! LIVE FROM THE CROWN JEWEL OF THE CORE, THE RHEESION HOTEL!!"
The audience roared. It was a sea of diamonds, rare furs, and genetically modified skin. It was the single greatest concentration of wealth and vanity in the galaxy.
We slowly zoom in, past the screaming fans in the upper tiers, past the mid-level celebrities, down to the floor seats. The shark tank.
Dorian sat there, hidden behind his polished metal mask. It was only now, feeling the bass thump in his chest, that the reality hit him. This wasn't a stream. This wasn't a niche event. This was a mega-entertainment juggernaut. And he was right in the middle of it.
He shifted in his seat, trying to make himself small. He glanced to his left.
The young man sitting next to him was undeniably handsome, dressed in a suit that cost more than Dorian's old apartment block. He had a sharp jawline and eyes that seemed to be constantly calculating equations.
It was Cassian Rhee.
Dorian began to sweat under his mask. His heart hammered against his ribs. 'Did he know?'
Cassian kept glancing sideways. Not at Dorian's mask, but at his head, at his hairline. Dorian had carefully used temporary dye to hide his signature white streak, but the scrutiny was intense. It was as if Cassian were looking for a flaw in the camouflage, a single white root that would confirm a suspicion.
"Composer Percival, right?" Cassian said, turning fully to face him, a polite, practiced smile on his face. "It is good to meet you."
"Of course," Dorian replied, his voice modulated by the mask, feigning ignorance. "And you are?"
Cassian's smile didn't reach his eyes. "I am Cassian Rhee. Heir to Rhee Industries. I am just here to attend the after-party, really. The ceremony is... tedious." He leaned back, crossing his legs. "Who did you come with?"
"I am here with my manager," Dorian said, gesturing to his right.
Ratik leaned forward, her expression cool and impenetrable. "Ratik Courtie. I am the Composer's manager."
"Hello," Cassian said, nodding to her with the slightest hint of dismissal.
As the show went on; performances by famous divas, speeches by retired legends. Cassian kept up a stream of quiet chatter.
"So, Percival," Cassian murmured, applauding politely for a jazz fusion band. "Do you summer in the Cloud Spire District? Or do you prefer the private moons of the Vex system?"
"I prefer... quieter places," Dorian deflected.
"Ah. Seclusion. Very chic," Cassian noted. "And your suit? Is that a bespoke weave from the Core? Or an import?"
"Import," Dorian grunted.
"Interesting."
It seemed like small talk, but every question was a probe. A sonar ping. Cassian was trying to map Dorian's background, his wealth, his connections. He was trying to figure out if "Percival" was old money, new money, or a fraud.
Finally, the performance segment concluded. The lights came up slightly for a commercial break.
Cassian stood up, smoothing his jacket. "Well, Composer. Nice to meet you. I have seen enough singing for one night." He checked his expensive chronometer. "I will see you at the after-party. Yeah?"
He didn't wait for an answer. He turned and walked up the aisle, his movements fluid and arrogant, ignoring the event entirely.
Dorian let out a massive sigh, slumping in his seat. "Ugh."
"What is with you?" Ratik whispered, not looking at him.
"He was a fellow classmate at Aethelgard," Dorian hissed.
Ratik turned, surprised. "He was?"
"Yeah. But how is he here? I thought Rhee Industries was only robotics. Droids and heavy machinery."
"Rhee Industries has their hand in almost every industry in the Accord," Ratik corrected him quietly.
"Really?"
"From snack packaging to the ablative coating on ballistic photon charges," Ratik explained grimly. "They have subsidiaries everywhere. If you eat it, wear it, or shoot it, a Rhee probably made a credit off it."
"How does snack packaging correlate to space weapons?" Dorian asked, bewildered.
"Supply chains," Ratik said simply. "They own the logistics. They are the upper echelon of society, Dorian. You probably didn't realize it, but he was trying to gauge your social level with that conversation. He was checking your pedigree."
"He did," Dorian realized, a cold feeling settling in his stomach. "I thought he was just a stupid 'young master' type back at school. A jock."
"Never underestimate a shark just because it smiles," Ratik warned.
Suddenly, the house lights dimmed again. A dramatic hush fell over the crowd.
"Get ready," Ratik whispered, sitting up straight. "The commercial is about to end. It is time for the awards."
⋘ 𝒍𝒐𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒂.. .⋙
🎮:
- Stardwey Valley: Completed.
- Hades: 1%▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒
🎬: -
♬:
- Your Name – Elton John (ch.9)
- A Lovely Night – La La Land (ch.20)
- Merry Go Round of Life – Howl's Moving Castle (ch.25)
- Small Fragile Hearts – Victor Lundberg (ch. 27)
- Skyfall – Adele (ch. 29)
- No Time To Die – Billie Eilish (ch. 30)
- Yesterday – The Beatles (ch. 32)
*A/N*
~Read Advance Chapter and Support me on [email protected]/SmilinKujo~
~🧣KujoW
*A/N*